THE  OLD  ROAD  TO 
PARADISE 


POEMS  BY 

MARGARET  WIDDEMER 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1918 


er 


COPYRIGHT,  1918, 

BY 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


THE    OUINN    A    BODEN    CO.    PMS6 

HAHWAY,    N.    J. 


TO  MOTHER 
WITH  MARGARET'S  LOVE 


405448 


FOR  the  privilege  of  reprinting  many  of  the  poems 
in  this  volume  the  author  wishes  to  thank  the  editors 
of  The  Bellman,  The  Bookman,  Contemporary  Verse, 
The  Century  Magazine,  The  Delineator,  The  Dial, 
Everybody's  Magazine,  The  Forum,  Good  House 
keeping,  Harper's  Bazar,  Harper  s  Magazine,  Life, 
McClure's  Magazine,  Midland,  New  Fiction  Publish 
ing  Co.,  Poetry  (Chicago),  Poetry  Review  (Boston), 
Reedy's  Mirror,  St.  Nicholas,  Southern  Magazine, 
Smart  Set,  Touchstone,  Youth's  Companion. 


CONTENTS 

PACE 

THE  OLD  ROAD  TO  PARADISE 

THE  OLD  ROAD  TO  PARADISE  ....  3 

THE  OLD  KINGS 5 

ST.  JEANNE  RIDES  OUT 7 

A  BALLAD  OF  THE  WISE  MEN  ....  9 

NEXT  YEAR n 

HOMES 12 

FATHER-PRAYER 13 

GOOD-BY,  MY  LOVER 14 

POEM  FOR  A  PICTURE 15 

PRAYER  FOR  THE  NEW  YEAR     .        .        .        .  17 

THE  SINGING  WOOD 

THE  GRAY  MAGICIAN 21 

THE  DANCERS 22 

THE  GYPSY  STAR 24 

THE  FAUN'S  SWEETHEART       ....  26 

DREAM-HOUSE 28 

GARDEN  DREAM 29 

SWAN-CHILD 31 

CHANGELING 33 

SONGS  FROM  A  MASQUE     .....  35 

UNSPELLED    ........  08 

THE  SINGING  WOOD  .       .       -.;      k..      ...       •  39 

vii 


viii  Contents 

PAGE 

BEING  YOUNG 

WHISTLE-FANTASY 43 

ONCE  WHEN  WE  BOUGHT  VALENTINES        .  44 

WHEN  I  WAS  A  YOUNG  GIRL  ....  46 

THE  GARDEN 48 

OCTOBER 50 

HEART  OF  YOUTH 51 

SONG:  I  WISH  I  WERE  OLD  Now  ...  52 

To  YOUTH  AFTER  PAIN 53 

OLD  BOOKS 54 

THE  WIRES  .........  57 

WOMENFOLK 

WOMEN 61 

EMBROIDERY 63 

TEA 64 

DREAM -DEATH 65 

TOYS 66 

MOTHER-PRAYER 67 

THREE  STUDIES  FOR  A  PORTRAIT      ...  68 

To  A  YOUNG  GIRL  AT  A  WINDOW  ...  71 

A  LOST  COMRADE 72 

DEPARTURE 73 

DISCOVERY 74 

WOMAN-LORE 75 

THE  UNFOUND  CITY 76 

THE  DARK  CAVALIER 77 


Contents  ix 

FACE 

PEOPLE 

TRAVEL  PRAYER 81 

His  MOTHER       .                      ....  82 

IN  AN  OFFICE  BUILDING  .  83 

GOD'S  PLACES 84 

PEOPLE 85 

A  BOY  OF  THE  GHETTO 87 

WISTFULNESS 

LIFE  TELLS  THE  DREAMER       ....  91 

PRESCIENCE 92 

I  TELL  MY  HEART 93 

FULFILMENT 94 

ONCE  I  MET  HAPPINESS 95 

LOVE  SONGS 

DENIAL 99 

THE  MASTERS 100 

I  SAID,  "  LOVE  Is  GONE  " 101 

VAIN  HIDING 102 

"  MARY,  HELPER  OF  HEARTBREAK  "        .        .  103 

INTERIM 105 

OTHER  PEOPLE 106 

AND  IF  You  CAME 107 

I  WAS  STILL  A  CHILD 108 

PEACE 109 

ONE  WORSE  THING   .               .....  no 


x  Contents 

FACE 

LOVE  SONGS— Continued 

GIVERS in 

OLD  WINE 112 

I  TOOK  His  DREAMS 113 

CERTAINTIES 114 

WISE  PEOPLE 115 

UNFAITH 116 

SONG:  KIND  ADIEU 117 

LOST  COUNSEL 118 

I  DID  NOT  KNOW 119 

AN  AFTERNOON 120 

THE   WOOD-PATH 122 

WARNING      .       ...      ..       ...      .....  123 


THE  OLD  ROAD  TO  PARADISE 


THE  OLD  ROAD  TO  PARADISE 

OURS  is  a  dark  Easter-tide, 

And  a  scarlet  Spring, 
But  high  up  at  Heaven-Gate 

All  the  saints  sing, 
Glad  for  the  great  companies 

Returning  to  their  King. 

Oh,  in  youth  the  dawn's  a  rose, 

Dusk's  an  amethyst, 
All  the  roads  from  dusk  to  dawn 

Gay  they  wind  and  twist; 
The  old  road  to  Paradise 

Easy  it  is  missed ! 

But  out  on  the  wet  battlefields, 
Few  the  roadways  wind, 

One  to  grief,  one  to  death 
No  road  that's  kind — 

The  old  road  to  Paradise 
Plain  it  is  to  find ! 

(Martin  in  his  Colonel's  cloak, 

Joan  in  her  mail, 
David  with  his  crown  and  sword- 

None  there  be  that  fail — 
Down  the  road  to  Paradise 

Stand  to  greet  and  hail!) 
3 


he  Old  Road  to  Paradise 

Where  the  dark's  a  terror-thing, 
Morn  a  hope  doubt-tossed. 

Where  the  lads  lie  thinking  long 
Out  in  rain  and  frost, 

There  they  find  their  God  again, 
Long  ago  they  lost : 

Where  the  night  comes  cruelly, 
Where  the  hurt  men  moan, 

Where  the  crushed  forgotten  ones 
Whisper  prayers  alone, 

Christ  along  the  battlefields 
Comes  to  lead  His  own : 

Souls  that  would  have  withered  soon 

In  the  hot  world's  glare, 
Blown  and  gone  like  shriveled  things, 

Dusty  on  the  air, 
Rank  on  rank  they  follow  Him, 

Young  and  strong  and  fair! 

Ours  is  a  sad  Easter-tide, 

And  a  woeful  day, 
But  high  up  at  Heaven-Gate 

The  saints  are  all  gay, 
For  the  old  road  to  Paradise, 

That's  a  crowded  way! 


THE  OLD  KINGS 

ALL  of  the  Old  Kings 

Are  wakened  from  their  sleep, 
Arthur  out  of  Avalon, 

Ogier  from  the  deep, 
Redbeard  from  his  Dragon-Rock, 

Sigurd  from  his  fen    .    .    . 
"Is  it  time''  they  rise  and  cry, 

"  To  lead  our  hosts  again?  " 

They  have  donned  their  winged  helms, 

They  would  rise  and  reign, 
The  young  king  Sebastian, 

The  old  king  Charlemagne, 
Harold  with  his  great  bow, 

Roland  with  his  horn  .  .  . 
Men  have  heard  their  horses'  hoofs 

Many  a  scarlet  morn ! 

The  Old  Kings  have  risen  .    .    . 

Where  the  hosts  advance 
Redbeard  cries  his  Germans  on, 

Karle  cries  out  for  France, 
Up  and  down  the  battlefield 

Ghostly  armies  beat, 
Stilly  down  the  gray  sea  glides 

Olaf 's  shadow-fleet : 

5 


The  Old  Kings 

Up  and  down  the  red  fields 

Men  have  seen  them  go, 
Seen  the  long  plumes  on  the  wind, 

Seen  the  pennons  flow, 
Harry  out  of  Agincourt 

Sends  his  bowmen  wide, 
Joan  that  has  forgiven  them 

Battles  at  their  side.   .    .    . 

Christ,  king  of  Paradise, 

Hasten  with  Thy  hosts, 
Angels  all  in  silver  mail, 

Saints  and  blessed  ghosts, 
Cry  the  long  swords  sheathed  again, 

Cry  the  pennons  furled, 
Lest  under  Ragnarok 

Lie  the  shattered  world ! 


ST.  JEANNE  RIDES  OUT 
(For  AMY  LOWELL) 

ST.  JEANNE  she  sat  with  Michael, 
With  Marguerite  and  Raphael, 

And  all  the  saints  who  sent  her  forth  a  many  years  ago, 
And  high  behind  her  gold-ringed  head, 
The  martyrs  dressed  in  white  and  red 
And  seraphim  all  silver-winged  they  chanted  row  on 
row. 

St.  Jeanne  she  spoke  to  Michael, 

To  Marguerite  and  Raphael, 

"  Oh,  here's  no  place  for  such  as  I,  all  white  and  gold 

and  warm, 

For  I  was  but  a  peasant  maid 
Strong  of  arm  and  unafraid, 
Before  you  sent  me  garnering  along  the  battle-storm." 

St.  Jeanne  she's  laid  her  garlands  by, 
Her  crown  and  palm  that  glittered  high 
And  all  the  golden  trinketry  she  won  at  Heaven  Gate, 
She's  out  along  by  Mary's  Street 
Where  little  stars  lie  thick  and  sweet, 
With  helm  and  sword  they  took  from  her  at  Rouen- 
Town  of  late. 

7 


8  St.  Jeanne  Rides  Out 

St.  Peter  swore,  "  The  gate  stands  wide, 

So  many  folk  have  marched  inside — 

I'll  drop  my  golden  keys  tonight  and  snatch  a  sword 

again !  " 

And  stalwart  saints  and  martyrs  all 
And  sworded  angels  silver-tall 
In  straight  and  shining  companies  they've  followed  in 

her  train. 

And  down  the  fields  of  Paradise 

The  churchmen  all  so  great  and  wise 

Who  won  to  Heaven  so  hardly  once,  they've  knelt  to 

her  at  last, 

All  they  who  laughed  at  Rouen-Town 
To  see  the  flames  beat  up  and  down 
And  learned  her  for  a  saint  that  day,  they  follow  glad 

and  fast. 

Oh,  did  you  hear  the  shouting  then  ? 

Along  the  fields  of  weary  men 

There's  lifted  heart  and  strengthened  arm  and  laughing 

glad  accord : 

Oh,  who  may  doubt  what  end  may  be? 
With  all  her  winged  chivalry 
St.  Jeanne  rides  down  her  fields  tonight  to  battle  for 

the  Lord ! 


A  BALLAD  OF  THE  WISE  MEN 

THE  Christ-Child  lay  in  Bethlehem 

And  the  Wise  Men  gave  Him  gold, 
And  Mary-Mother  she  hearkened  them 

As  they  prayed  in  the  cattle-fold : 
"  Smile  then,  smile,  little  Prince  of  Earth, 

Smile  in  Thy  holy  sleep, 
Now  Thou  art  come,  for  want  and  dearth 
There  shall  be  plenty  and  light  and  mirth 

Through  lands  where  the  poor  folk  weep." 
But  Mary-Mother  was  still  and  pale 

And  she  raised  her  gold-ringed  head, 
"  Then  why  have  I  heard  the  children  wail 
All  night  long  on  the  far-blown  gale 
While  my  own  Child  slept  ?  "  she  said. 
(But  far  overhead  the  angels  sang: 
"  There  shall  be  joy! "  the  clear  notes  rang!) 

The  Christ-Child  lay  in  Bethlehem 

And  the  censers  burned  for  him 
That  the  Wise  Men  swung  on  its  silver  stern 

And  prayed  while  the  smoke  rose  dim : 
"  Sleep,  then  sleep,  little  Son  of  God, 

Sleep  while  the  whole  world  prays ; 
All  of  the  world  shall  fear  Thy  nod, 
Following  close  Thy  staff  and  rod, 

Praising  this  day  of  days." 
9 


10  A  Eallnd  of  the  Wise  Men 

But  Mary-Mother  turned  whispering 

There  by  the  manger-bed 
"  Then  why  do  I  hear  the  mocking  ring 
Of  voices  crying  and  questioning 

Through  the  scented  smoke  ?  "  she  said. 
(But  high  overhead  the  angels  sang — 
"  There  shall  be  faith! "  the  pure  notes  rang.) 

The  Christ-Child  lay  in  Bethlehem 

And  the  Wise  Men  gave  Him  myrrh, 
And  Mary-Mother  she  hearkened  them 

As  they  prayed  by  the  heart  of  her : 
"  Sleep,  then  sleep,  little  Prince  of  Peace, 

Sleep,  take  Thy  holy  rest, 
Now  Thou  art  come  all  wars  shall  cease, 
Thou  who  hast  brought  all  strife  release 

Even  from  east  to  west !  " 
But  Mary-Mother  she  veiled  her  head 

As  if  her  great  joys  were  lost, 
And  "  Here  is  only  a  manger-bed, 
Then  why  do  I  hear  clashed  swords  ?  "  she  said. 
"  And  why  do  I  see  the  tide  of  red 

Over  the  whole  world  tossed  ?  " 
(But  still  overhead  the  angels  sang: 
"  There  shall  be  peace!  "  the  sure  notes  rang!) 


NEXT  YEAR 

UP  and  down  the  street  I  know, 
Now  that  there  are  Grief  and  War, 

All  day  long  the  people  go 
As  they  went  before ; 

But  when  now  the  lads  go  by — 
Careless  look  and  careless  glance — 

My  heart  wonders — "  Which  shall  lie 
Still  next  year  in  France  ?  " 

When  the  girls  go  fluttering — 

Flushing  cheek  and  tossing  head — 

My  heart  asks — "  Next  year  shall  bring 
Which  a  lover  dead?" 

Lord,  let  peace  be  kind  and  fleet — 
Put  an  end  to  Grief  and  War; 

Let  them  walk  the  little  street 
Careless  as  before ! 


ii 


HOMES 

THE  lamplight's  shaded  rose 
On  couch  and  chair  and  wall, 
The  drowsy  book  let  fall, 
The  children's  heads,  bent  close 
In  some  deep  argument, 
The  kitten,  sleepy-curled, 
Sure  of  our  good  intent, 
The  hearth-fire's  crackling  glow 
His  step  that  crisps  the  snow, 
His  laughing  kiss,  wind-cold.   . 

Only  the  very  old 
Gifts  that  the  night-star  brings, 
Dear  homely  evening-things, 
Dear  things  of  all  the  world, 
And  yet  my  throat  locks  tight   . 

Somewhere  far  off  I  know 
Are  ashes  on  red  snow 
That  were  a  home  last  night. 


12 


FATHER  PRAYER 

LORD  God,  Who  let  Your  baby  son 

Pass  earthward  where  the  joys  were  few 

To  a  hard  death  when  all  was  done, 
And  very  far  away  from  You ; 

My  little  lad  must  go  today 

Paths  where  I  cannot  guide  his  feet, 
Through  dangers  that  I  cannot  stay 

To  strife  I  cannot  help  him  meet; 

He  has  heard  voices  calling  him 

Though  youth  is  gay  and  life  is  warm, 

And  right  seems  far  away  and  dim, 
To  weary  ways  and  battle-storm: 

Lord  God,  Whose  Son  went  steadily 
Down  the  hard  road  He  had  to  tread, 

Guard  my  son  too,  that  he  may  be 

Strong  in  his  hours  of  doubt  and  dread! 


GOOD-BY,  MY  LOVER 

ALL  the  flags  stream  abroad,  and  the  crowds  wave  and 

cry— 
And  I  watch  for  your  face  in  the  long  lines  marching 

by; 

For  my  lips  bade  you  go,  but  my  heart  would  bid  you 

stay — 
Oh,  lad,  and  will  the  war  be  long,  and  you  so  far 

away? 

And  your  step  as  you  marched,  would  it  lag  or  fall 

more  true 
If  you  knew  that  my  heart's  gone  to  war  to  follow 

you? 


POEM  FOR  A  PICTURE 

(Children  at  play  on  a  French  Battlefield) 

"  WHEN  I  was  a  child," 

You  shall  tell  one  day, 
Children,  on  these  blackened  fields 

Gallantly  at  play, 
"  All  the  quiet  sky 

Burst  in  death  aflame ; 
One  day,  I  was  young, 

Then   .    .    .   The  Horror  came." 

"When  I  was  a  child  ..." 

Wind-tossed  leaves  of  war, 
Is  there  childhood  still  for  you, 

Wise  in  horror-lore, 
Who  have  heard  your  sisters'  screams 

Shattering  your  play, 
Seen  your  mothers  past  their  dead 

Led  to  shame  away? 

Ragged,  helpless,  maimed. 

Hungry,  left  alone 
Where  the  smoking  roof-beams  lie 

By  the  wrecked  hearth-stone, 
is 


16  Poem  for  a  Picture 

Still  you  mime  (child-hearts  are  strong, 

Childhood  pain  is  brief) 
Echoes  of  world-victory, 

World-defeat,  world-grief ! 

Dauntless  in  your  rags, 

Insolent  in  mirth, 
Laughing  with  young  lips  that  know 

All  the  griefs  of  earth, 
God,  who  loves  a  high  heart  well, 

Will  not  let  you  fail — 
You  are  France,  who  laughs  at  Hell — 

France,  who  shall  prevail ! 


PRAYER  FOR  THE  NEW  YEAR 

LORD  God,  we  lift  to  Thee 

A  world  hurt  sore. 
Look  down,  and  let  it  be 

Wounded  no  more ! 

Lord,  when  this  year  is  done 

That  wakes  today 
Many  shall  pray  to  Thee 

Who  do  not  pray ; 

Let  all  lips  comfort  them, 

All  hearts  be  kind, 
They  who  this  year  shall  leave 

Their  joys  behind : 

Give  them  Thy  comforting, 

Help  them  to  know 
That  though  their  hopes  are  gone 

Thou  dost  not  go ; 

They  who  shall  give  for  Thee 

Lover  and  son, 
Show  them  Thy  world  set  free, 

Thy  battles  done ! 

17 


1 8  Prayer  for  the  New  Year 

Lord  God,  we  lift  to  Thee 

A  world  in  pain, 
Look  down  and  let  it  be 

Made  whole  again! 


THE  SINGING  WOOD 


THE  GRAY  MAGICIAN 

I  WAS  living  very  merrily  on  Middle  Earth 

As  merry  as  a  maid  may  be 
Till  the  Gray  Magician  came  down  along  the  road 

And  flung  his  cobweb  cloak  on  me: 

His  cobweb  cloak  of  gray  brushed  my  eyes  and  my 
ears 

And  all  the  curtained  air  was  thinned, 
And  1  came  to  the  sight  of  the  quiet  Other  People 

Who  live  in  the  water  and  the  wind : 

And  I  cannot  go  abroad  to  gather  up  the  faggots, 

Singing  to  the  honest  air 
Because  of  the  fingers  of  the  brown  wood-women 

Catching  at  my  blowing  hair : 

And  I  cannot  sit  at  home  and  be  quiet  at  my  spinning, 

Singing  to  the  thread  I  spin, 
Because  of  the  crying  of  the  green  sea-women 

Beneath  my  sill  to  be  let  in : 

And  I  wish  the  Gray  Magician  had  been  swung  to  an 

oak 

Or  drowned  in  the  deep  green  sea 
Before  he  brushed  my  face  with  his  cobweb  cloak 
And  stole  the  Middle  Earth  from  me ! 
ax 


THE  DANCERS 

(For  EDWIN  ARLINGTON  ROBINSON) 

OURS  was  a  quiet  town,  a  still  town,  a  sober  town, 
Softly  curled  the  yellow  roads  that  slept  in  the  sun, 
Staid  came  the  day  up  and  staid  came  the  night  down 
And  staidly  went  we  sleepwise  when  the  day's  work 
was  done ! 

Oh,  they  came  dancing  down,  the  gay  ones,  the  bonny 

ones, 

We  had  never  seen  the  like,  sweet  and  wild  and  glad, 
Down  the  long  roads  they  came,  fluting  and  dancing, 
Flowers  in  each  lass's  hair  and  plumes  on  each  lad ! 

Sweet    were    their   clinging   hands,    kind    were    their 

voices, 
"Dance  with  us,  laugh  with  us,  good  grave  folk,"  said 

they, 

"  Swift  we  must  go  from  you,  time's  long  for  toiling, 
Come  and  make  joy  with  us  the  brief  while  we  stay !  " 

Oh,  then  was  a  gay  time,  a  wild  time,  a  glad  time, 
Hand  in  hand  we  danced  with  them  beneath  sun  and 

moon, 
Flowers   were    for  garlanding  and   greens   were    for 

dancing — 
This  was  the  wisdom  we  learned  of  them  too  soon ! 

22 


The  Dancers  23 

Swift  went  the  day  past,  a  glad  day,  a  wild  day, 
Swift  went-  the  night  past,  a  night  wild  and  glad, 
Down  fell  their  arms  from  us,  loosening,  fleeting, 
Far  down  the  roads  they  danced,  wild  lass  and  wild 
lad! 

Far  fled  their  dancing  feet,  far  rang  their  laughter, 
Far  gleamed  their  mocking  eyes  beneath  the  garlands 

gay, 
All  too  late  we  knew  them  then,  the  wild  eyes,  the 

elf -eyes, 
Wood-folk    and    faun-folk    that    danced    our    hearts 

away ! 

Ours  is  a  still  town,  a  sad  town,  a  sober  town, 
Still  lie  the  dun  roads  all  empty  in  the  sun, 
Sad  comes  the  day  up  and  sad  falls  the  night  down, 
And  sadly  go  we  sleepwise  when  the  day's  watch  is 
done! 


THE  GYPSY  STAR 

THERE  were  seven  shining  stars  that  swung  above  my 

cradle 
(She  never  was  kind  to  me,  Diana  our  Lady  the 

Moon!) 

And  one  was  rosy-pale,  and  one  was  scarlet-golden, 
And  one  was  a  little  shadowed  star  that  only  could 
vanish  soon ! 

Oh,  Mars  was  scarlet- wild  and  Venus  was  veiled  in 

shadow 
(She  called  to  the  clouds  to  come,  Diana  our  Lady 

of  Snow !) 
But  all  of  the  stars  that  rose  and  helped  me  where  I 

must  wander 

They  never  could  hold  the  Gypsy  Star  to  the  roads 
where  my  feet  must  go ! 

Oh,  one  was  a  star  of  crowns  and  one  was  a  star  of 

dreaming 
And  one  was  a  star  of  mockery  and  one  was  a  help 

from  pain, 
And  ever  the  Sun  was  kind  and  shone  for  my  idle 

singing, 

But  ah,  my  wandering  Gypsy  Star  I  never  shall  find 
again ! 


The  Gypsy  Star  25 

Oh,  Mars  may  burn  to  dusk  and  Venus  may  rise  from 

shadow 
And  even  the  Moon  that  hated  me  forget  as  she 

lifts  the  tide, 
Yet  what  if  they  gleam  or  fade,  and  what  if  they  stay 

or  wander?   .    .    . 

Alas,   my   wandering   Gypsy   Star  that   faded   and 
flamed  and  dted ! 


THE  FAUN'S  SWEETHEART 

WE  met  by  the  Wood  of  Doom, 

Day  gone  and  the  dusk  come  after   .    .    . 

And  I  thought  you  were  one  like  the  lads  anear, 

Only  more  glad  and  fair, 

Till  I  heard  you  laugh  in  the  gloom 

And  I  knew  a  faun's  wild  laughter — 

But  oh,  it  was  all  too  late  to  fear 

The  little  horns  in  your  hair ! 

Far  back  leaped  the  woodlights'  glow, 
And  you  fled — and  I  might  not  follow, 
And  I  loosed  the  hold  of  your  hurrying  hand 
At  the  piercing  wood-flutes'  call ; 
For  rny  human  feet  fell  slow, 
Flagging  at  hill  and  hollow, 
Till  far  rang  back  from  the  leaping  band 
The  click  of  your  light  footfall. 

The  days  pass  long  and  still 
Where  I  sit  still  at  my  spinning   .    .    . 
But  I  wish  the  sounds  of  the  talking  stream 
Would  hush,  and  I  might  not  know 
Over  the  forest-hill 
The  sounds  of  the  night's  beginning, 
Nor  see  the  flit  of  the  hurrying  gleam 
Where  the  lightfoot  woodfolk  go ! 
26 


The  Faun's  Sweetheart  27 

For  I  cannot  have  hope  in  heaven 

To  quiet  my  heartache  after, 

Because  you  were  only  a  faun  o'  the  wood 

With  never  a  soul  at  all. 

And  never  the  hills  of  heaven 

May  echo  a  faun's  wild  laughter 

Nor  over  the  harpstrings'  holy  flood 

Sound  ringing  your  light  footfall! 


DREAM-HOUSE 
(For  ANNA  HEMPSTEAD  BRANCH) 

I  WENT  to  the  house  of  the  Lady  of  Dreams 

For  a  dream  to  carry  away 
That  should  ferry  me  over  the  blackest  streams 

I  had  to  cross  by  day ; 

For  comforting  dreams  from  her  small  white  hands 

Rise  up  like  butterflies, 
And  dreams  like  the  lakes  in  old  fairylands 

Lie  back  of  her  shining  eyes, 

And  gold-riddled  dreams  like  tapestries 

Cling  painted  along  her  walls 
And  yellow  bird-dreams  from  shadow-trees 

Come  fluttering  when  she  calls ; 

And  all  of  the  day-dark  when  she  spoke 

Was  shattered  and  rainbow-hung, 
And  she  gave  me  a  dream  like  a  scarlet  cloak 

And  a  dream  like  a  wreath  rose-strung   .    .    . 

But  I  went  from  the  house  of  the  Lady  of  Dreams 
And  my  packet  of  dreams  blew  wide, 

And  only  a  red-rose  cloud  in  streams 
Swung  torn  in  the  west  outside ! 

28 


GARDEN  DREAM 

THEY  cried  before  my  gate  at  morning-mirth, 

"  Come  out  and  help  us  burn  the  weeds  from  earth!" 

But  I  was  planting  out  my  garden-close 

With  wands  of  lily  and  with  slips  of  rose, 

And  their  scented  wavings  made  the  air  so  sweet 

That  I  could  not  listen  to  the  trampling  feet   .    .    . 

(Yet  there  blew  a  perfume  from  the  garden-bed 

That  changed  the  evil  weeds  to  white  and  red!) 

They  called  before  my  gate  at  noontide-breath, 

" Conie  out  and  help  us  check  the  dance  of  death!'' 

But  I  was  dancing  in  a  woodland  ring 
With  brown  wood-women  for  my  partnering, 
And  fauns  that  fluted  till  the  green  glades  rang, 
And  all  I  heard  was  what  the  wood-birds  sang.    .    .    . 
(Yet  there  came  a  music  from  the  wood-folk's  flute 
That  made  the  drums  of  evil  kind  and  mute!) 

They  cried  before  my  gate  at  sweet  of  night, 
"  Come    out   and   help    us   scourge    the    black   "world 
-white!" 

But  I  was  weaving  me  a  golden  gown 
All  strung  with  silver  lilies  up  and  down 

29 


30  Garden  Dream 

With  moon-white  laces  that  should  foam  and  fall, 
And  I  could  not  hear  their  lashing  words  at  all   ... 
(Yet  there  streamed  a  light  from  out  the  golden  gown 
That  cleansed  the  blackness  of  each  evil  town!) 

And  every  poor  man  had  a  garden-close 
With  wands  of  lilies  and  with  slips  of  rose, 
And  every  poor  child  danced  the  woodlands  through 
And  sang  and  fluted  merry  songs  he  knew, 
And  every  woman  had  a  golden  gown 
Gay-strung  with  silver  ribbons  up  and  down, 
And  we  all  went  singing  how  the  world  is  fair 
And  warm  the  summer  light  and  sweet  the  air! 


SWAN-CHILD 

(For  ALINE) 

MY  feet  have  touched  the  Dancing  Water, 
My  lips  have  kissed  the  Singing  Rose 

And  I  was  born  a  swan-girl's  daughter  .    . 

Oh,  I  would  stay  with  you,  my  lover, 
But  in  my  heart  a  sea  wind  blows 

And  in  the  dark  the  wild  swans  hover  .    . 

Tonight  as  I  went  down  to  sea 

To  cast  my  net,  to  draw  my  net, 
The  Marsh-King's  daughter  whispered  me, 

"Sister,"  she  called,  "  do  you  forget?" 
For  though  I  am  a  fisher's  child 

It  was  a  swan-maid  mothered  me, 
And  I  have  wings  that  I  can  don 
When  day  is  done,  when  dark  comes  on, 

To  bear  me  high  across  the  sea. 

One  star-dusk  when  I  waited  you 
And  it  was  long  before  you  came, 

There  was  a  bird  with  wings  of  blue 
And  claws  of  gold  and  crest  of  flame 

Who  sang  with  words  as  mortals  do: 
He  sang  me  of  an  ivory  fountain 
Within  a  wood  beyond  a  mountain 
31 


32  Swan- Child 

Where  lies  beneath  the  water's  flow 
A  golden  key,  a  silver  cup, 
Until  my  hand  shall  lift  them  up   ... 
(Oh,  I  must  go  from  you,  my  lover!) 

For  they  were  mine  once  long  ago. 

How  shall  you  keep  me,  dear  my  lover? 

My  heart  is  yours  till  night-winds  call, 
And  then  dear  earth-things  fade  and  fall 

(Oh,  I  was  born  a  swan-girl's  daughter!) 
For  I  have  found  beneath  the  moon 
Brown  fairy  fernseed  for  my  shoon 

That  carries  me  where  no  man  knows, 
Beyond  the  sands,  beyond  the  clover   .    .    . 
I  cannot  bide  with  you,  my  lover   .    .    . 

My  feet  have  touched  the  Dancing  Water, 

My  lips  have  kissed  the  Singing  Rose. 


CHANGELING 

THOUGH  she  has  a  name  you  bore, 
Elfin-Heart  we  loved  before, 
You  are  lost  to  us,  you  child, 
Little  life-flame  burning  wild ! 
Though  her  hair — how  like  ! — is  tossed 
Like  your  yellow  head  that's  lost, 
And  her  blue  eyes  seem  to  smile 
Like  yours  lost  this  weary  while, 
This  dim  woman  lifelessly 
Playing  you — you  are  not  she ! 
You  that  were  a  wisp,  a  spark, 
Small  wild  sunray,  Gleam-in-Dark, 
Never  you,  wild  heart  awing, 
This  that  is  a  changeling ! 

Elfin-Heart,  too  like  you  were— 
Mocking  eyes  and  tossing  hair — 
Cruel  laughter,  changeful  ways — 
To  your  kin  the  wandering  fays, 
To  have  passed  their  hidden  ring, 
Safe,  uncaught,  unfollowing! 
Somewhere  in  a  green  hill's  heart 
Elfin-tall  you  laugh  apart 
Where  forever  cold  and  gay 
Do  the  Strange  Folk's  pipers  play  .    . 

33 


34  Changeling 

And  while  this  that  bears  your  seeming 
Goes  among  us  dumb  and  dreaming, 
You  dance  on  eternally 
With  the  Dark  Queen's  chivalry ! 


SONGS  FROM  A  MASQUE 

THE   WOODFOLK    SWEEP  THROUGH 

The  Water-Spirit: 

Water  flows  in  the  wild  wood  deep, 

Dreamy  water  that  slips  and  sighs, 
I  shall  whisper  your  heart  to  sleep, 

Flowing  down  on  your  lips  and  eyes — 
Dance  and  dream — dance  and  dream — 
Folk  of  woodland  and  tree  and  stream ! 

The  Fire-Spirit: 

Fire  shall  burn  and  be  always  new, 

Flames  leap  wild  on  the  flashing  air; 
I  shall  sweep  from  the  heart  of  you, 

Worldly  fever  of  love  and  care — 
Dance  and  leap — dance  and  leap — 
Folk  of  woodland  and  wind  and  steep ! 

The  Earth-Spirit: 

Earth  is  kind  in  the  peace  of  night, 

Earth  that  loves  when  all  else  is  done- 
I  will  hide  you  at  loss  of  light 

Deep  from  hurt  of  the  snow  or  sun — 
Dance  till  night — dance  till  night — 
Folk  of  woodland  and  vale  and  height ! 
35 


36  Songs  from  a  Masque 

Chorus  of  Wood  folk: 

Wild  the  heart  of  the  magic  wood, 

Wild  the  dream  that  shall  never  stay, 
Flute  and  laughter  and  dance  are  good, 

Joy  and  singing  the  while  we  may — 
Joy  is  good — joy  is  good — 
Folk  of  river  and  field  and  wood ! 


SWANHILD   SINGS    UNSEEN: 

White  wings,  far  wings, 

Fade  down  the  sky, 
Dream  things,  fair  things 

Follow  and  fly ; 

Young  heart,  wild  heart, 
Ah,  could  you  follow 

All  the  clouds,  all  the  dreams, 
Down  the  world's  hollow ! 


SWANHILD   SINGS   TO   THE    KNIGHT  I 

What  shall  I  do  with  my  heart 
That  will  not  go  with  thee, 

Lover  of  mine,  knight  of  mine, 
Guide  to  the  heights  afar? 


Songs  from  a  Masque  37 

There  is  a  dream  to  follow 

That  will  not  let  me  be— 
I  must  go  down  to  the  marshland's  water, 

Hiding  from  wind  and  star! 

What  shall  I  do  with  thy  heart, 

Seeking  me  without  rest, 
I  who  must  strip  all  hands  from  me, 

Guarding  my  steps  in  fear ! 
Turn  from  the  fairy  woodland, 

Pass  to  thy  holy  quest — 
I  must  go  seek  for  the  track  of  the  swan 

And  the  sound  of  the  step  of  the  deer! 


UNSPELLED 

THE  world  of  dream  is  shattered ;  hill  and  tree 
And  winged  music  and  enchanted  lawn ;  • 

For  someone  signed  the  cross,  and  suddenly 
Our  faeryland  was  gone: 

The  dark  fell  swiftly  on  the  fear-struck  land 
And  mocking  echoes  cried  across  the  chill; 

The  wailing  woodfolk  fled  us  ...  but  your  hand 
Held  close  to  my  hand  still. 

Oh,  what  are  woodland  dream  and  fluting  reed, 
Red  glamor  of  enchanted  jewel-stone? 

I  pass  the  ruined  faery  gates  indeed  .    .    . 
But  not  alone. 


THE  SINGING  WOOD 

I  FOLLOWED  far  from  the  roadway 

After  my  golden  ball 
(How  could  I  tell  the  way  it  went, 

Where  it  might  lie  or  fall?) 
And  coaxing  vines  from  the  Singing  Wood 

Came  twining  around  my  feet 
And  scent  of  flowers  from  the  Singing  Wood 

Oh,  it  was  sweet,  was  sweet ! 

Once  I  met  a  satyr, 

Once  I  was  with  a  faun, 
Once  I  spoke  with  a  woman  o'  doom 

Spinning  from  dusk  till  dawn, 
Once  I  followed  a  will-o'-the-wisp 

Dancing  along  the  fen   .    .    . 
Never  the  sun  in  the  Singing  Wood, 

Never  a  bird-loud  glen  ! 

All  the  trees  were  sighing, 

All  of  the  brooks  were  tears, 
All  of  the  flowers  were  bleeding-hearts 

Scarlet  with  hopes  and  fears, 
All  of  the  vines  were  hands  that  clung 

Twisting  about  my  heart   .    .    . 
Oh,  the  thorns  of  the  Singing  Wood 

Sharp  they  can  tear  and  smart! 

39 


4O  The  Singing  Wood 

I  might  have  won  to  the  rainbow's  end, 

But  never  for  all  o'  me 
Shall  my  feet  stray  into  the  Singing  Wood 

For  any  fair  things  that  flee   .    .    . 
Here  on  earth  are  the  day  and  night, 

Human  women  and  men — 
And  oh,  'tis  good  to  be  out  o'  the  wood, 

Into  the  world  again ! 


BEING  YOUNG 


WHISTLE-FANTASY 

OUT  in  the  dark  the  train  passes 
And  the  whistle  calls  to  the  child, 
Desolate,  piercing,  wild, 
From  the  track  in  the  meadow-grasses 
"  Far,  far  away,"  it  screams, 
"Far,  far  away, 
Out  in  the  distance  are  dreams 
Dreams  you  shall  follow  some  day 
Far  through  the  endless  wild   .    .    . 
Distance   .    .    .   dreams   ..." 
Backward  the  faint  call  streams : 
Far  in  the  dark  the  train  passes, 
And  the  whistle  calls  to  the  child. 


43 


ONCE  WHEN  WE  BOUGHT  VALENTINES 

(For  KENNETH) 

CLOSE    upon    the    window-glass    pressed    our    eager 

faces — 

Hearts  and  torches  all  aflare,  frame  on  frame  of  laces, 
Wreathing  roses  all  abloom,  Cupids  all  awing, 
Valentines — and  valentines !  swung  along  the  string, 
Lights  from  out  the  window-pane  glinted  on  the  snow 
Once  when  we  bought  valentines — how  long,  how  long 

ago! 

Slow  we  tiptoed  in  the  shop,  scarlet-cheeked  and  shy, 
Half-elate,  half-afraid  to  be  asked  to  buy, 
Sidling  toward  the  prettiest  on  their  swaying  strings, 
Laughing  at  the  ugliest,  monstrous  painted  things. 
(Still  the  little  thrill  of  fear — life  was  strange,  you 

knew^ — 
What  if  someone  sometime  sent  one  of  those  to  you?) 

Tense   we   watched   the   lagging  mail,   furtive   hearts 

abeat   .    .    . 

Surely  it  would  never  come  down  the  endless  street! 
Surely  all  the  valentines  would  be  gone  before 
(Out  of  sight,  into  sight)  it  could  reach  our  door. 

44 


Once  When  We  Bought  Valentines     45 

Surely  all  the  envelopes  sealed  with  hearts  of  red 
(Were  they  there?    Were  they  ours?)  would  be  gone 

instead ! 

Hearts  and  doves,  wreaths  and  loves  wonderful  to  see ! 
Could  He  mean  the  shiny  words,  "  I  Can  Love  But 

Thee?" 
Would  he  look  across  the  desks  when  next  morning 

came, 

He  who  sent  (If  He  sent)  all  those  hearts  aflame? 
Would  He  know  the  straggling  hand,  all  in  print  and 

bent 
Up  and  down  on  the  folds  of  the  one  you  sent? 

We're  too  old  to  buy  them  now — all  the  loves  and 

laces, 

We  can  only  watch  above  other  little  faces. 
Glowing  at  the  prettiest,  laughing  at  the  plain, 
Still  the  eager  faces  crowd  by  the  lighted  pane. 
Once  ive  too  saw  wonderlights  glinting  on  the  snow, 
Once  we  too  bought  valentines — too  long,  too  long 

ago! 


WHEN  I  WAS  A  YOUNG  GIRL 

(A  Song  of  Old  Ballads) 

WHEN  I  was  a  young  girl,  all  in  a  green  arbor, 
When  I  was  a  young  girl  in  Springtimes  gone  by 

All  the  long  days  I  went  singing  and  smiling, 

Down  by  the  roses  the  sweet  days  beguiling, 
Love  in  the  arbor  and  love  in  the  sky   .    .    . 

When  I  was  a  young  girl,  a  young  girl,  a  young  girl, 
When  I  was  a  young  girl,  how  happy  was  I ! 

Oh,  the  long  days  I  must  sit  at  my  sampler, 
Oh,  the  slow  way  that  the  still  time  would  go! 

I  longed  to  be  running  across  the  bright  heather, 

"  Off  with  the  silk  gown  and  on  with  the  leather, 
Following  the  raggle-taggle  gypsies,  oh !  " 

When  I  was  a  young  girl,  a  young  girl,  a  young  girl, 
When  I  was  a  young  girl,  a  long  time  ago ! 

When  I  was  a  young  girl  in  days  that  were  golden, 
When  I  was  a  young  girl,  and  life  had  no  smart, 

All  the  world  seemed  a  place  for  my  playing, 

Full  of  great  lovers  to  come  to  me,  saying, 

"  Madam,  I  give  you  the  keys  of  my  heart  ..." 

When  I  was  a  young  girl,  a  young  girl,  a  young  girl, 
When  I  was  a  young  girl,  and  dreaming  apart ! 
46 


When  I  Was  a  Young  Girl  47 

When  I  was  a  young  girl,  I  dreamed  of  my  lover, 
A  tall  cavalier  who  should  whisper  me  low, 

"  Love,  on  your  lips  are  red  roses  a-blowing, 

I  am  your  true  love,  and  fast  i;  time  going 
Am  I  your  true  love?    Oh,  say  yes  or  no!" 

When  I  was  a  young  girl,  a  young  girl,  a  young  girl — 
When  I  was  a  young  girl,  a  long  time  ago ! 

When  I  was  a  young  girl  there  came  my  true  lover, 
Swiftly  I  knew  him  in  glad  days  gone  by ; 

Never  a  sword  or  a  lovelock  or  feather, 

But  oh,  at  his  touch  'twas  our  hearts  came  together, 
Love  in  the  arbor  and  love  in  the  sky  .  .  . 

When  I  was  a  young  girl,  a  young  girl,  a  young  girl, 
When  I  was  a  young  girl,  how  happy  was  I ! 


THE  GARDEN 

THERE  were  many  flowers  in  my  mother's  garden, 
Sword-leaved  gladiolus,  taller  far  than  I, 

Sticky-leaved  petunias,  pink  and  purple-flaring, 
Velvet-painted  pansies  staring  at  the  sky; 

Scentless  portulacas  crowded  down  the  borders, 
White  and  scarlet-petaled,  satin-rose  and  gold, 

Clustered  sweet  alyssum,  lacy-white  and  scented, 
Sprays  of  gray-green  lavender  to  keep  till  you  were 
old; 

In    my   mother's   garden    were    green-leaved    hiding- 
places, 
Nooks  between  the  lilacs — oh,  a  pleasant  place  to 

play! 
Still  my  heart  can  hide  there,  still  my  eyes  can  dream 

it, 

Though  the  long  years  lie  between  and  I  am  far 
away; 

When  the  world  is  hard  now,  when  the  city's  clanging 
Tires  my  ears  and  tires  my  heart  and  dust  lies 
everywhere, 

I  can  dream  the  peace  still  of  the  soft  wind's  shining, 
I  can  be  a  child  still  and  hide  my  heart  from  care. 


The  Garden  49 

Lord,  if  still  that  garden  blossoms  in  the  sunlight, 
Grant  that  children  laugh  there  now  among  its  green 

and  gold, 

Grant  that  little  hearts  still  hide  its  memoried  sweet 
ness, 

Locking  one  bright  dream  away  for  light  when  they 
are  old ! 


OCTOBER 

DONE  with  the  Spring's  unrest  and  gleam, 
The  summer's  toil  and  rich  unrest, 
With  nothing  left  to  seek  or  keep 
Before  she  turns  to  Winter  sleep 
Earth  lays  her  golden  head,  to  dream 
One  month  against  the  gold  sky's  breast. 


HEART  OF  YOUTH 

WHEN  I  come  back  in  the  gloom 
To  my  lighted  house  once  more 
My  heart  says,  "  Haste  tonight ! 
There  is  something  you  do  not  know, 
Something  to  give  you  joy, 
On  the  other  side  of  the  door 
There  in  the  firelight's  glow, 
There  in  the  lighted  room." 

My  quick  heart  whispers  me, 
"  The  kinsman  gone  oversea, 
The  one  they  have  always  said 
Would  surely  come  back  some  day, 
Waits  for  you,  brown,  windblown  . 
Or  the  lover  you  have  not  known 
Is  waiting  you  there  tonight — 
Do  you  wonder  that  I  rejoice? 
Or  the  dearest  one  of  the  dead 
Waits  in  the  ring  of  light 
With  the  old  glad  face  and  voice 
As  if  he  were  never  away   .    .    . 
Hasten !  "  my  heart  has  said. 

But  when  I  open  the  door 
There  are  only  the  old  lights 
And  the  old  accustomed  faces 
And  the  firelight  on  the  floor.   .    .    . 

51 


SONG:  I  WISH  I  WERE  OLD  NOW 

I  WISH  I  were  old  now, 

And  maybe  content ; 
I'd  look  back  the  long  way 

My  footsteps  were  bent, 
And  say,  "  'Tis  all  done  now — 

What  odds  how  it  went?  " 

For  all  would  look  smooth  then 
And  most  would  look  gay, 

And  "  Oh,  I  was  sure  then, 
And  strong  then,"  I'd  say, 

And  show  the  wild  young  things 
My  wise-traveled  way. 

I'd  have  naught  to  strive  for 

And  no  thought  to  form 
But  how  to  rest  easy 

And  how  to  sleep  warm, 
And  "  Pity  the  poor  souls 

Abroad  in  the  storm!" 

I  wish  I  were  old  now 

With  living  put  by, 
And  peace  on  the  hearthstone 

And  peace  in  the  sky, 
But — "Oh,  to  be  young  now, 

But  young  now!  "  they  cry ! 
52 


TO  YOUTH  AFTER  PAIN 

WHAT  if  this  year  has  given 

Grief  that  some  year  must  bring, 
What  if  it  hurt  your  joyous  youth, 

Crippled  your  laughter's  wing? 
You  always  knew  it  was  coming, 

Coming  to  all,  to  you, 
They  always  said  there  was  suffering — 

Now  it  is  done,  come  through. 

Even  if  you  have  blundered, 

Even  if  you  have  sinned, 
Still  is  the  steadfast  arch  of  the  sky 

And  the  healing  veil  of  the  wind   .    .    . 
And  after  only  a  little, 

A  little  of  hurt  and  pain, 
You  shall  have  the  web  of  your  own  old  dreams 

Wrapping  your  heart  again. 

Only  your  heart  can  pity 

Now,  where  it  laughed  and  passed, 
Now  you  can  bend  to  comfort  men, 

One  with  them  all  at  last, 
You  shall  have  back  your  laughter, 

You  shall  have  back  your  song, 
Only  the  world  is  your  brother  now, 

Only  your  soul  is  strong! 
53 


OLD  BOOKS 

THE  people  up  and  down  the  world  that  talk  and  laugh 

and  cry, 
They're  pleasant  when  you're  young  and  gay,  and  life 

is  all  to  try, 
But  when  your  heart  is  tired  and  dumb,  your  soul  has 

need  of  ease, 

There's  none  like  the  quiet  folk  who  wait  in  libraries — 
The  counselors  who  never  change,  the  friends  who 

never  go, 
The  old  books,  the  dear  books  that  understand  and 

know! 

"  Why,  this  thing  was  over,  child,  and  that  deed  was 
done/' 

They  say,  "  When  Cleopatra  died,  two  thousand  years 
agone, 

And  this  tale  was  spun  for  men  and  that  jest  was 
told 

When  Sappho  was  a  singing-lass  and  Greece  was  very 
old, 

And  this  thought  you  hide  so  close  was  sung  along 
the  wind 

The  day  that  young  Orlando  came  a-courting  Rosa 
lind!" 

54 


Old  Books  55 

The  foolish  thing  that  hurt  you  so  your  lips  could  never 

tell, 
Your   sister   out   of    Babylon    she    knows    its    secret 

well, 
The  merriment  you  could  not  share  with  any  on  the 

earth 
Your  brother  from  King  Francis'  court  he  leans  to 

share  your  mirth, 
For  all  the  ways  your  feet  must  fare,  the  roads  your 

heart  must  go, 
The  old  books,  the  dear  books,  they  understand  and 

know! 

You  read  your  lover's  hid  heart  plain  beneath  some 

dead  lad's  lace, 
And  in  a  glass  from  some  Greek  tomb  you  see  your 

own  wet  face, 
For  they  have  stripped  from  out  their  souls  the  thing 

they  could  not  speak 
And  strung  it  to  a  written  song  that  you  might  come 

to  seek, 
And  they  have  lifted  out  their  hearts  when  they  were 

beating  new 
And  pinned  them  on  a  printed  page  and  given  them  to 

you. 

The  people  close  beside  you,  all  their  hearts  are  dumb 

and  young, 
The  kindest  word  they  try  to  say  it  stumbles  on  the 

tongue, 


56  Old  Books 

Their  hearts  are  only  questing  hearts,  and  though  they 

strive  and  try, 
Their  softest  touch  may  hurt  you  sore,  their  best  word 

make  you  cry. 
But  still  through  all  the  years  that  come  and  all  the 

dreams  that  go 
The  old  books,  the  dear  books,  they  understand  and 

know! 


THE  WIRES 

THE  wires  gleamed  far  and  silver, 

Lines  on  a  morning  sky ; 
I  heard  the  white  wires  singing 

Their  song  as  I  went  by ; 
Far  and  far  away  they  led,  and  I  was  bound  and 

young, 
And  sharp  the  wind  blew  overhead,  and  gave  the 

wires  a  tongue — 
Young  folk  must  wander  far, 

Young  feet  must  roam 
:Tis  a  long  way  to  everywhere, 

But  oh,  a  short  way  home  I 

The  wires  gleamed  far  and  golden — 

I  followed  in  their  track, 
Far  and  far  the  gold  wires  led, 

And  never  road  led  back ; 

Far  and  far  the  gold  wires  went,  and  oh,  I  fol 
lowed  fast, 
Roads  to  wrork  ere  youth  was  spent,  and  joy  while 

youth  should  last: 
Rough  roads  to  fame  and  gold 

Gay  roads  to  roam, 
Roads  to  hate  and  roads  to  love, 

But  never  roads  toward  home! 

57 


$8  The  Wires 

The  wires  show  far  and  darkened, 

Lines  on  a  sunset  sky, 
And  still  the  black  wires  sing  me 

Their  song  as  I  plod  by- 
Far  and  far  the  black  wires  wind,  and  I  am  old 

and  tired, 
And  naught  is  left  to  seek  or  find  of  all  that  I 

desired : 
Old  folk  arc  wise  too  late, 

Old  feet  cannot  roam, 
'Tis  a  short  ivay  to  everywhere, 

But  oh,  a  lost  way  home! 


WOMENFOLK 


WOMEN 

You  fret  and  grieve  and  turn  about 
To  make  this  world  and  living  out, 
With  "  This  is  so  "  and  "  That  is  so—" 
Ah,  sirs,  we  learned  it  long  ago ! 

If  you  should  make  an  angel  tell 
What  Mary  learned  of  Gabriel 
Yet  could  you  know  the  flaming  words 
That  pierced  her  with  the  seven  swords  ? 
And  if  some  fiend-snake  hissed  you  low 
All  he  told  Eve  where  God's  trees  grow, 
Yet  could  you  learn  the  thing  she  learned 
Who  sobbing  out  of  Eden  turned? 

We  watched  with  smiling  mother-eyes 

The  while  you  stormed,  and  thought  you  wise, 

At  God's  great  walls,  as  if  you  beat 

Like  babes,  with  angry  hands  and  feet ; 

For  God,  who  bound  our  feet  and  hands 

And  laid  us  under  your  commands, 

Still  left  us  silence,  love,  and  pain, 

And  dreams  to  hide  and  peace  to  gain.   .    .    . 

Why,  when  you  search  beyond  a  doubt 
The  furthest  star's  last  secret  out, 
61 


62  Women 

Some  woman  from  her  nook  shall  smile, 

Laying  her  needle  down  the  while, 

"  Dear,  that  old  dream  I  told  to  you  ? 

You  smiled  ...  I  thought  you  always  knew  !  " 

The  thing  we  tell  is  no  new  thing, 

A  wisdom  born  of  suffering, 

That  there  is  pain,  and  there  is  love, 

And  God's  great  silence  still  above, 

And  this  is  all — though  you  have  hurled 

Your  strength  forever  on  the  world. 

Quick,  let  us  speak  to  you,  ere  yet 

Passed  from  our  silence  we  forget, 

Like  you,  with  crowds  made  deaf  and  blind, 

With  dealing  close  to  humankind : 

Be  swift,  for  soon  we  too  shall  be 

With  no  more  place  for  memory, 

Going  unfettered  as  man  goes 

And  scarcely  wounded  more — who  knows? 

And  all  our  Vala-dreams  shall  lift 

Like  Tyre-smoke  and  Atlantis-drift   .    .    . 

Listen,  most  dear,  the  while  that  we 
At  once  have  speech  and  memory. 


EMBROIDERY 

SHE  sits  and  makes  pink  roses  with  her  thread 

And  wonders  what  to  do,  her  heart  astir, 

What  road  to  take,  where  roads  branch  close  ahead, 

And  how  to  know  her  true  love  calling  her ; 

Whether  to  follow  thorny  paths  (but  sweet 

The  young  wild  heart's  way !)  or  to  fling  the  door 

Wide  to  love's  placid  tread  with  wonted  feet, 

And  how  to  build  her  life  forevexmore. 

The  rose-sprung  needle  keeps  its  darting  deft  .    .    . 
When  life  has  gone  whichever  way  it  goes, 
Of  all  her  wonderings  shall  be  only  left 
The  texture  and  the  pattern  of  this  rose : 
And  when  her  old  eyes  see  its  flowering  spread, 
Dull-faded,  a  known  decking  of  her  room, 
(Wherever  that  may  be  then — all  words  said, 
All  life  made  certain  then  until  the  tomb!) 

Something  shall  clutch  her  still  of  youth  and  pain, 
From  that  far-thrilled  girl-day,  and  she  will  see 
Its  shape  grow  in  that  breathless  hour  again 
With  all  her  ordered  years  were  still  to  be ; 
From  that  brown  silken  flower  shall  flush  in  death 
Youth  with  its  rosy  terrors  quivering  gay, 
And  she  shall  think,  set  free  for  one  swift  breath — 
"  Ah,  yes,  I  made  it  on  that  very  day !  " 
63 


TEA 

THEY'VE  flowers  and  cakes  and  candle-light, 

And  chair  by  crowded  chair, 
And  I  am  very  sweet  and  kind, 

Because  I  do  not  care   .    .    . 
I  think  that  I  am  hoping  still 

If  I  am  very  good 
And  talk  to  these  around  me 

As  a  courteous  lady  should 
The  room  will  softly  split  across 

And  roll  to  left  and  right 
With  all  its  smiling  pasteboard  folks 

And  colored  things  and  light 
And  let  me  run  into  the  grass 
And  climb  a  sunset  hill, 
And  find  three  hours  one  year  ago, 

When  I  was  living  still. 


64 


DREAM  DEATH 

WHAT  though  no  folk  who  saw  her  knew 

At  heart  she  was  Pierrette, 
Who  went  her  sober  way 
In  robe  and  face  of  gray? 
Still  down  a  laughing  path  of  dream 

Her  flashing  feet  were  set, 
To  clink  of  gold  guitars, 
Rose-scent  and  glint  of  stars ! 

But  when  he  came  who  should  have  known 

Her  kin  to  star  and  flower 
And  left  her  heart  unfound, 
Nor  robe  nor  mask  unbound, 
She  went  her  way  by  daylight  still, 

And  seemed  to  live  her  hour, 
Firm  hands  and  lifted  head — 
Only  Pierrette  was  dead. 


TOYS 

SHE  loves  the  flowers,  the  wind  that  bends  the  fir; 
When  the  Spring  comes  she  dances ;  and  her  mirth 
Comes  always  when  the  water  laughs  to  her. 
She  holds  the  little  daily  sweets  of  earth 
On  high  and  pleasures  in  them ;  words  that  sing, 
Clear  music,  lovely  faces ;  all  delight 
We  others  pass  use-dulled,  unnoticing — 
The  sunrise  and  the  sunset,  day  and  night. 

Yet  somehow  all  her  woven  joys  endure 
Too  perfect,  too  well-shapen  to  have  rayed 
Light-heartedly  on  her.    Oh,  I  am  sure 
That  once  upon  a  time  we  do  not  know 
God  took  away  from  her — once,  long  ago — 
All  life's  real,  rugged  things,  too  sharp  for  joys, 
And — for  she  looked  at  Him  still  unafraid — 
He  laid  within  her  hands  instead  these  toys. 

Oh,  on  the  gentle  day  when  she  goes  hence 
I  hope  that  for  her  gay  obedience 
He  has  reward  for  her :  that  when  she  dies 
He  will  not  send  her  straight  to  Paradise. 
She  knows  enough  of  Paradisal  mirth — 
Oh,  surely  He  will  give  her  back  the  earth, 
And  all  its  living  that  He  made  her  miss, 
Locked  close  to  life  by  its  most  burning  kiss, 
Clutching  decisions,  terror-haunted  breath, 
Great  grief,  great  raptures,  passion,  birth  and  death, 
66 


MOTHER-PRAYER 

"  LORD,  make  my  loving  a  guard  for  them 

Day  and  night, 
Let  never  pathway  be  hard  for  them; 

Keep  all  bright ! 
Let  not  harsh  touch  of  a  thorn  for  them 

Wound  their  ease — 
All  of  the  pain  I  have  borne  for  them 

Spare  to  these ! " 

So  I  would  pray  for  them, 

Kneeling  to  God 

Night  and  day  for  them. 

"  Lord,  let  the  pain  life  must  bring  to  them 

Make  them  strong, 
Keep  their  hearts  white  though  grief  cling  to  them 

All  life  long, 
Let  all  the  joys  Thou  dost  keep  from  them 

At  Thy  will 
Give  to  them  power  to  reap  from  them 

Courage  still ! " 

So  I  must  ask  for  them, 

Leaving  to  God 

His  own  task  for  them. 


67 


THREE  STUDIES  FOR  A  PORTRAIT 

i 

OLD   TALES 

HER  voice  within  the  darkened  room 
Tells  on — old  jests  and  tragedies 

And  little  follies  of  her  kin 
And  futile  old  nobilities : 

".    .    .   If  they  had  only  done,"  she  tells, 
"  The  thing  that  others  said  was  wise 

There  would  have  been  no  death  that  year   . 
How  fast  her  tiny  shuttle  flies ! 

The  stiff  old  pictures  on  the  wall, 

Who  were  those  passionate  girls  and  men 

So  sure  of  Youth  and  Righteousness, 
Look  dully  on  the  Now  from  Then; 

And  I  look  past  her  out  the  glass 

Where  yo,ung  Today  goes  to  and  fro   .    .    . 

But  all  she  sees  was  past  a  change 
A  changeless  fifty  years  ago. 


68 


Three  Studies  for  a  Portrait          69 


THE   GRAY   MASK 

I  wish  I  could  not  see  her  heart 
That  is  so  passionate,  so  young, 

For  all  love-words  are  said  for  her, 
All  love-songs  sung: 

Over  light  griefs  her  eyes  grow  wet, 
Over  gay  silks  her  eyes  grow  gay, 

She  sighs,  half-hopeful   .    .    .  "  I  forget 
My  hair  is  gray — 

"  I  dreamed  a  lover  came  for  me 

And  courted  me,"  she  tells,  "  last  night   . 

Ah,  kind  dream-lover,  who  could  find 
Such  tired  eyes  bright ! 

And  yet  .    .    .   Perhaps  some  lad  in  heaven 
Some  day  shall  clasp  her  soul,  and  know 

Unchanged,  the  little  lass  he  left 
So  long  ago. 

3 

THE   SEEKER 

She  was  so  full  of  restlessness, 
So  ceaselessly  went  to  and  fro 

That  it  was  hard  for  us  to  guess 

What  thing  she  wished  to  find  or  know 


70  Three  Studies  for  a  Portrait 

Only  the  gifts  the  gray  years  brought 
So  fretted  her  on  cheek  and  brow — 

Could  it  have  been  her  youth  she  sought?  .    . 
I  hope  that  she  has  found  it  now. 


TO  A  YOUNG  GIRL  AT  A  WINDOW 

THE  Poor  Old  Soul  plods  down  the  street, 

Contented,  and  forgetting 
How  Youth  was  wild,  and  Spring  was  wild 

And  how  her  life  is  setting; 

And  you  lean  out  to  watch  her  there, 

And  pity,  nor  remember, 
That  Youth  is  hard,  and  Life  is  hard, 

And  quiet  is  December. 


A  LOST  COMRADE 

You  live  as  the  world  would  have  you  do — 
Only  the  sleeping  soul  of  you 
Lies  unwakened  by  wind  or  dew. 

Your  soul,  that  thrilled  like  a  harpstring  shaken 
Dusty  hands  of  the  world  have  taken 
And  thrust  it  deeper  than  life  can  waken : 

You,  who  quickened  our  heavy  eyes, 

Our  hearts  weighed  down  beyond  will  to  rise, 

With  silver  shadows  of  Paradise ! 

Were  it  only  your  heart  that  the  years  had  broken, 

Still  should  be  for  a  shining  token 

How  your  soul  had  glowed  and  your  lips  had  spoken — 

Were    it    only    your    life    that    was    crushed    and 

through !   .    .    . 

They  have  taken  the  starry  soul  of  you 
And  hidden  it  deep  from  the  wind  and  dew ! 


DEPARTURE 

IT  was  not  when  I  plead  with  her, 

And  on  a  tragic  day 
Clung  sobbing  to  her  skirts  of  rose, 

That  Youth  went  away; 

O  not  when  from  the  cruel  glass 
My  face  showed,  lined  and  chill — 

Her  eyes  burnt  wild  beneath  the  mask, 
Her  pulse  hurt  me  still. 

But  when  I  saw  young  lovers  pass, 
And  watched  them,  well-content, 

Nor  felt  my  eyes  grow  hot  with  tears 
To  gaze  where  they  went   .    .    . 

O  then  I  knew  my  time  was  through, 

And  pleasured  in  the  day, 
At  peace  to  know  of  Love  and  Spring 

And  Youth  gone  away. 


73 


DISCOVERY 

WITHIN  my  mirror  I  could  see 
Last  night  as  I  gazed  steadfastly 
An  old  strange  thing  look  out  at  me ; 

The  smile  my  grandame  used  to  wear; 
Line  on  proud  line  it  faced  me  there   . 
I  had  not  known  it  meant  Despair. 


74 


WOMAN-LORE 

Now  this  is  what  you  learn  at  last 

Of  men  beneath  the  sun, 
With  all  the  gates  of  living  passed 

And  all  the  kisses  done — 
That  none  are  ever  old  indeed 

And  none  are  very  wise, 
And  they  will  break  you  for  their  need 

Or  give  you  earth  and  skies : 

And  out  of  all  between  you  two 

For  all  the  close  years'  gain, 
The  dearest  gifts  they  give  to  you 

Shall  come  with  sorest  pain — 
(A  pain  your  lips  find  still  untold, 

A  joy  they  cannot  see) 
Your  child  they  give  your  arms  to  hold, 

Your  child  they  grow  to  be. 


75 


THE  UNFOUND  CITY 

(For  ALICE  BROWN) 

THERE  is  a  city  burning  in  a  dream 

All  women  know  and  search  for  secretly; 

The  swift  rose-hearted  flame's  eternal  stream 
Laps  round  the  changeless  towers  eternally. 

It  stands  far  off  above  a  circling  mist.   .    .    . 

Have  ye  not  seen  our  eyes  that  seek  its  light, 
Felt  the  quick  sigh  between  our  lips  late-kissed, 

Felt  our  loosed  arms  yearn  toward  it  in  the  night? 

Gold  Helen  found  it  not,  nor  white  Deirdre : 
There  is  no  woman,  howso  loved,  can  tell 

Of  those  white  changeless  dream-towers  seen  by  day, 
Of  that  flame  calyxed,  perfect  citadel: 

We  shall  not  ever  know  its  perfect,  joy, 

Yet  we  shall  seek  it  till  our  years  are  gone   .    .    . 

Eternal  Love  whose  fires  shall  not  destroy 
Eternal  Beauty  that  it  beats  upon. 


THE  DARK  CAVALIER 

I  AM  the  Dark  Cavalier ;  I  am  the  Last  Lover : 

My  arms  shall  welcome  you  when  other  arms  are 
tired ; 

I  stand  to  wait  for  you,  patient  in  the  darkness, 
Offering  forgetfulness  of  all  that  you  desired. 

I  ask  no  merriment,  no  pretense  of  gladness, 
I  can  love  heavy  lids  and  lips  without  their  rose ; 

Though  you  are  sorrowful  you  will  not  weary  me ; 
I  will  not  go  from  you  when  all  the  tired  world  goes. 

I  am  the  Dark  Cavalier ;  I  am  the  Last  Lover ; 

I  promise  faithfulness  no  other  lips  may  keep; 
Safe  in  my  bridal  place,  comforted  by  darkness, 

You  shall  lie  happily,  smiling  in  your  sleep. 


77 


PEOPLE 


TRAVEL  PRAYER 

ALL  along  the  way 

As  through  the  night  we  go, 
I  see  the  little  houses 

In  lighted  row  on  row — 

The  flying  train  goes  by 

And   sounds    its   whistle   clear, 

And  all  the  waiting  houses 

They  lift  their  lights  and  hear: 

A  thousand  homes  for  miles  on  miles, 

I  press  the  pane  to  see ; 
And  each  has  lights  that  wait  its  own 

As  my  lights  wait  for  me — 

All  the  little  homes 

And  every  one  alight! 
Lord,  keep  the  people  happy 

That  wait  in  them  tonight! 


81 


HIS  MOTHER 

HE  will  be  cold  tonight — 

Always  he  felt  it  so. 
(Strange  not  to  lift  the  light, 

Strange  not  to  go, 
Softly — for  he  forgets, 

Careless  as  glad  ! — 
Drawing  the  coverlets 

Over  the  lad.) 

Blankly  the  covers  lie, 

Smooth  and  untossed, 
By  me  the  fire  burns  high, 

Outside  is  frost   .    .    . 
Has  it  had  rest  tonight, 

Dear  tumbled  head? 
Lord,  I  would  know — would  know 

If  he  were  dead! 

It  must  be  cold  and  wet 

Where  our  troops  lie   ... 
(Lord  Jesus,  spare  him  yet! 

Let  him  not  die!) 
Still  here   ...   so  still   .    .    .   and  white 

One  far  clear  star   .    .    . 
He  will  be  cold  tonight, 

Wh&re  the  troops  are. 
82 


IN  AN  OFFICE  BUILDING 

I  WENT  down  the  old  passage 

Between  the  lighted  doors 

To  your  lighted  door, 

Knowing  that  I  should  find  you  there, 

Find  your  swift  smile  and  quickened  words, 

Comfort  and  welcome  there, 

Guardianship  and  greeting, 

As  it  has  always  been, 

As  it  shall  always  be. 

And  suddenly 

As  my  hand  touched  the  door,  I  knew, 

Knowing  you  quick  and  warm 

And  waiting  me 

That  I  should  dream,  some  far-off  night  from  this 

Of  coming  down  this  passageway  to  you 

Between  the  lighted  doors 

To  your  lighted  door 

Knowing  that  I  should  find  you  there, 

And  opening,  find 

An  empty  frightening  place 

And  you  away, 

And  wake 

Remembering  you  were  dead. 


GOD'S  PLACES 

I  SAID,  "  I  am  so  tired  of  all  the  old  tired  faces 

In  the  crowded  places, 
I  tire  of  all  the  weary  steps  that  cross  and  beat 

Down  the  long  swift  street :  " 
I  said,  "  I  will  return  into  my  own  still  room, 

Thick  with  peace  and  gloom." 

I  said,  "  I  will  summon  up  the  still  bright  streams 

Of  my  trooping  dreams, 
Whose  faces  are  as  weariless  and  calm  and  young 

As  a  bird-note  sung, 
Who  drift  along  with  sunset-colored  robes  outblowing, 

Of  all  need  unknowing." 

And  then   .    .    .   the  sun  shone  cloudless,  and  the  wind 
blew  fleet 

Down  the  long  swift  street 

And  through   the   windowed  canyon's   end  the   sky's 
sweet  blue 

Shone  unwearied  through, 

And  I  said,  "  But  I  must  stay,  for  see,  my  brothers' 
faces 

Here  in  God's  own  places !  " 


PEOPLE 

(For  JESSIE  RITTENHOUSE) 

I  AM  so  sorry  for  them  all 

Whose  ceaseless  footsteps  rise  and  fall 

Along  earth's  highways  endlessly, 

The  people  in  the  world  with  me ; 

Who  have  had  dreams,  and  yet  must  take 

The  gifts  life  has  fof  men  awake ; 

Who  build  their  lives  each  day  anew 

On  hopes  they  know  cannot  come  true, 

Who  walk  the  world  till  sleep,  and  then 

At  dawn  must  walk  the  world  again ; 

Who  ask  God's  favors,  knowing  still 

He  does  not  break  His  changeless  will 

For  any  faulty  changing  cry 

Of  men  He  makes  to  live  or  die.   .    .    . 

I  am  so  sorry  for  them  all, 
So  sorry !    Until  I  recall 
How  life's  adventure  swings  afar 
Beyond  tomorrow  like  a  star, 
And  how  our  dreams  paint  golden-bright 
Gray  working-day  and  sleeping-night, 
And  all  the  love  each  man  who  lives 
May  buy  with  merely  love  he  gives, 
85 


86  People 

And  how  it  comforts  us  to  pray 
Whether  God  hears  or  turns  away, 
And  how  to  work  and  sleep  and  wake 
Is  good  for  the  mere  doing's  sake : 
Till,  whether  life  seem  gay  or  sad, 
I  am  so  glad  for  men — so  glad ! 


A  BOY  OF  THE  GHETTO 

HE  goes  out  with  his  Dreams 
Through  the  dingy  city  square, 

Purple-  and  silver-winged 

They  go  with  him  everywhere. 

The  quarreling  hags  at  the  windows 
Have  voices  unkind,  unsweet, 

But  his  Dreams  kave  silver  voices 
And  starrily-slippered  feet ; 

The  workmen  push  on  the  pavement 
And  laugh  ard  curse  as  they  go, 

But  he  is  far  with  his  Dreams 
On  a  road  they  do  not  know ; 

He  walks  far  off  with  the  Dreams 
That  whisper  and  sing  beside 

And  his  face  is  glad  and  still 
And  his  eyes  are  burning-wide ; 

He  goes  out  with  his  Dreams 
Through  a  golden  wonder-place 

With  the  light  of  God  in  his  dyes 
And  the  peace  of  God  in  his  face. 


87 


WISTFULNESS 


LIFE  TELLS  THE  DREAMER 

THESE  others  ask  me  little,  clamoring 

For  such  imperfect  gifts  as  I  can  bring; 

A  crown   .    .    .   with  thorns  along  it   ...   or  much 

gold 

To  weigh  the  heart  down  with  its  dragging  hold   .    .    . 
Or  men's  loud  voices  calling  on  their  name, 
A  little  day,  then  hurt  and  scorn — called  Fame — 
Or  for  one  fleeting  hour  a  world  made  new 
Called  Love   .    .    .   But,  Child,  these  gifts  are  not  for 

you. 

Too  clear  of  sight,  you  ask  things  past  my  hold; 

A  light  beyond  the  sunlight   .    .    .    Fairy-gold   .    .    . 

Love     ageless     and     unflawed   .    .    .   Faith     crystal- 
true   .    .    . 

So,  Child,  I  keep  my  broken  gifts  from  you, 

Leaving  instead  my  only  perfect  thing, 

The  Dream  these  others  lose,  all-sorrowing, 

Still  raptured,  still  all-golden ;  yours  to  keep 
Death  my  sister's  gift,  more  perfect  Sleep. 


PRESCIENCE 

I  WENT  to  sleep  smiling, 

I  wakened  despairing — 
Where  was  my  soul, 

On  what  terror-path  faring? 
What  grief  shall  befall  me, 

By  midnight  or  noon, 
What  thing  has  my  soul  learned 

That  I  shall  know  soon? 


I  TELL  MY  HEART 

/  TELL  my  heart,  to  hush  her  aching 
When  we  are  sleeping,  when  we're  waking, 
Of  things  we  loved  well,  she  and  I, 
Upon  a  time  that  is  gone  by: 

Heart,  now  the  Spring  comes  there  shall  be 
A  bright  and  blossoming  apple-tree 
Against  the  window-light  to  swing 
Its  thousand-petaled  flowering; 
There  is  clear  water,  flickering  green, 
With  shining  leaf-brown  rocks  between 
And  silver  fish  that  hide  and  dart 
Where  we  may  play  too,  dear  my  heart ; 
And  there  is  sunlight's  gold  that  lies 
Warmly  on  cheek  and  breast  and  eyes 
And  little  winds  at  even-star 
That  slip  from  where  the  pine-trees  are   .    , 
And  heart,  remember  how  we  heard 
At  twilight  once  a  wakened  bird 
Whose  notes  flung  out  a  silver  net 
Against  flame-rose,  flame-violet! 

Oh,  heart,  my  heart,  still  can  you  lie 
Dumb  while  the  wonder-spring  goes  by? 

My  heart  is  very  young — some  while 
Perhaps  she  may  look  up  and  smile. 
93 


FULFILMENT 

CROSSING  through  Heaven's  doors, 
If  Heaven  may  be  for  me, 

I  shall  not  seek  gold  floors 
Nor  jasper  wall  nor  sea; 

Out  from  the  streets  of  gold 
Will  branch  a  wooded  way 

Like  one  I  knew  of  old 

When  all  the  world  was  May : 

There  shall  be  dusk  to  fall 
And  winds  expectant,  sweet, 

And  sleepy  birds  to  call 
And  vines  about  my  feet, 

Stars  i»  the  night's  soft  black, 
Leaves  that  swish  soft  like  rain 

And  one  old  hour  come  back 
And  one  choice  given  again. 


94 


ONCE  I  MET  HAPPINESS 

ONCE  when  all  tke  Spring  was  wild, 
All  the  leaves  dew-pearled, 

Once  I  met  Happiness, 
Singing  down  the  world. 

She  bad  laughter  on  her  lips, 

Flowers  in  her  hair — 
Once  I  met  Happiness — 

Oh,  she  was  fair! 

There  was  yellow  sun,  I  know, 

Scent  o'  pine  that  day, 
Once  she  kissed  me  on  the  lips, 

Laughed  and  went  her  way. 

What  if  all  the  lights  are  dim, 

All  the  flowers  furled  ? 
Once  I  met  Happiness, 

Singing  down  the  world ! 


LOVE  SONGS 


DENIAL 

IT  never  would  have  hurt  God 
To  have  made  the  world  today 
So  that  your  footsteps  turned  my  way, 

So  that  our  two  paths  crossed — 
But  I  went  wearily  up  and  down 
The  streets  of  the  empty-painted  town 

And  a  whole  day  was  lost ! 

Never  your  footsteps  where  mine  trod, 

Never  my  words  to  you — 
And  it  all  would  have  been  so  simple  for  God, 

So  slight  a  thing  to  do ! 


99 


THE  MASTERS 

You  have  taught  me  laughter, 

Joyousness  and  light, 
How  the  day  is  rosy-wild, 

Star-enthrilled  the  night : 

Maybe  God  can  teach  me 

After  you  are  gone 
How  to  bear  the  blackened  night 

And  the  dreadful  dawn. 


100 


I  SAID,  "  LOVE  IS  GONE  " 

I  SAID,  "  Love  is  gone ; 

I  need  bear  no  more 
Terrible  dawn 

And  midnight  sore 
Hungering  dreams 

I  cannot  keep 
And  fever-streams 

Across  my  sleep   .    .    ." 

And  the  sun  went  down, 

And  the  day  burned  black 
Over  the  town 

And  Love  came  back 
And  my  heart  was  burned 

With  fire  and  pain — 
But  Love  had  returned, 

Had  returned  again ! 


xox 


VAIN  HIDING 

I  SAID  :  "  I  shall  find  peace  now,  for  my  love  has  never 
been 

Here  in  the  little  room,  in  the  quiet  place ; 
The  walls  shall  not  quiver  around  me,  nor  fires  begin, 

And  I  shall  forget  his  voice  and  perhaps  his  face 

And  be  still  for  a  little  space." 

But  the   thought   of   my  love  beat  wild   against  the 

silencing  doors 

There  in  the  quivering  air,  in  the  throbbing  room, 
Till  his  step  strode  quick  and  light  against  the  echoing 

floors 
And  the  light  of  his  voice  was  there  for  the  placid 

gloom 
And  his  presence  a  shed  perfume. 

So  I  said :  "  There  is  no  peace  more,  for  the  p^ace  can 

never  be 
Where  the  thought  of  him  cannot  come,  cannot  burn 

me  thro', 
For  the  thought  of  his  touch  is  my  flesh,  and  his  voice 

is  a  voice  in  me, 

And  what  is  the  use  of  all  you  may  say  or  do 
When  love  is  a  part  of  you  ?  " 


102 


"  MARY,  HELPER  OF  HEARTBREAK  " 

WELL,  if  the  thing  is  over,  better  it  is  for  me, 

The  lad  was  ever  a  rover,  loving  and  laughing  free, 

Far  too  clever  a  lover  not  to  be  having  still 

A  lass  in  the  town  and  a  lass  by  the  road  and  a  lass 

by  the  farther  hill- 
Love  on  the  field  and  love  on  the  path  and  love  in  the 

woody  glen — 
(Lad,  will  I  never  see  you,  never  your  face  again?) 

Ay,  if  the  thing  is  ending  now  I'll  be  getting  rest, 
Saying  my  prayers  and  bending  down  to  be  stilled  and 

blest, 

Never  the  days  are  sending  hope  till  my  heart  is  sore 
For  a  laugh  on  the  path  and  a  voice  by  the  gate  and 

a  step  on  the  shieling  floor — 
Grief  on  my  ways  and  grief  on  my  work  and  grief  till 

the  evening's  dim — 
(Lord,  will  I  never  hear  it,  never  a  sound  of  him?) 

Sure  if  it's  done  forever,  better  for  me  that's  wise, 
Never  the  hurt,  and  never  tears  in  my  aching  eyes, 
No  more  the  trouble  ever  to  hide  from  my  asking  folk 
Beat  of  my  heart  at  click  o'  the  latch,  and  throb  if  his 
name  is  spoke; 

103 


IO4     "Mary,  Helper  of  Heartbreak" 

Never  the  need  to  hide  the  sighs  and  the  flushing 
thoughts  and  the  fret, 

And  after  awhile  my  heart  will  hush  and  my  hunger 
ing  hands  forget  .  .  . 

Peace  on  my  ways,  and  peace  in  my  step,  and  maybe 
my  heart  grown  light — 

(Mary,  helper  of  heartbreak,  send  him  to  me  tonight!) 


INTERIM 

I  HAVE  a  little  peace  today, 

And  I  can  pause  and  see 
How  life  is  filled  with  golden  things 

And  gracious  things  for  me ; 

I  can  go  watch  the  water  run 

And  smile  to  feel  the  air 
And  love  the  deep  touch  of  the  sun 

And  know  the  world  is  fair  .    .    . 

Oh,  hush,  my  soul,  take  comfort  now 

And  sleepy-singing  lie 
Till  Love  return  to  hide  the  sun 

And  veil  the  earth  and  sky ! 


105 


OTHER  PEOPLE 

I  LOOK  at  all  the  people 
Who  meet  me  and  are  gay, 

And  wonder  have  they  broken  hearts 
That  hurt  night  and  day  ? 

So  I  am  very  kind  to  them 
Whoever  they  may  be, 

Because  they  may  have  broken  hearts- 
Broken  hearts,  like  me. 


106 


AND  IF  YOU  CAME— 

AND  if  you  came  ? — Oh,  I  would  smile 

And  sit  quite  still  to  hide 
My  throat  that  something  clutched  the  while, 

My  heart  that  struck  my  side. 

And  you  would  hear  my  slow  words  fall, 

(Men  do  not  know!)  and  say 
"  She  does  not  love  me  now  at  all," 

And  rise  and  go  away. 

And  I  would  watch,  as  quietly 

Your  footsteps  crossed  the  sill, 
The  whole  world  dying  out  from  me   .    .    «, 

And  speak  on,  smiling,  still. 


107 


I  WAS  STILL  A  CHILD 

I  WAS  still  a  child 

Till  I  came  to  you, 
Child-eyes,  child-heart, 

Child-lips  all  too  true; 

I  went  silently, 

With  all-wondering  eyes  . 
"  She  is  old,"  they  said, 

"  She  is  grave  and  wise." 

Came  your  touch  that  burned 
Eyes  and  lips  and  heart ; 

There  were  no  more  dreams 
I  could  spin,  apart : 

Now  my  lips  are  gay 
And  my  heart  untold ; 

"  She  is  young,"  they  say  .  . 
I  am  old — am  old  ! 


108 


PEACE 

ALL  my  days  are  clear  again  and  gentle  with   for 
getting, 
Mornings   cool   with  graciousness   of   time   passed 

stilly  by. 

Evening  sweet  with  call  of  birds  and  lilac-rose  sun- 
setting, 

And  starshine  does  not  hurt  my  heart  nor  night- 
winds  make  me  cry. 

I  can  tie  a  ribbon  now,  nor  hope  of  your  eyes'  pleasure 

Makes  its  hue  intolerable  if  you  come  not  to  see, 
I  can  hear  old  music  now,  nor  stabbing  through  its 

measure 

Come  the  thoughts  I  would  not  have,  or  tears  that 
need  not  be. 

All  my  days  are  placid  now,  as  quiet  children  slowly 
Pacing  down  a  leaf-locked  way  that  has  not  dale  or 

hill; 
Peace  again  and   mirth   again,   and   dawn   and   even 

holy.   .    .    . 

/  wish  I  had  your  hands  in  mine,  and  heartbreak 
still! 


109 


ONE  WORSE  THING 

LAST  Spring  I  walked  these  ways,  and  a  sharp  grief 
walked  with  me, 

For  you  had  broken  my  heart  with  a  light  kiss,  care 
lessly, 

And  I  was  young  and  was  new  to  grief,  and  could 

think  of  no  worse  thing 

{  Than  to  walk  abroad  with  a  hurting  heart  and  be  hope 
less  in  the  Spring. 

But  I  am  older  now,  and  have  lived  with  grief  awhile, 
And  there's  one  worse  thing  than  a  hurting  heart  that 

you  have  to  hide  and  smile, 
For  I  who  know  what  a  hurt  heart  is,  and  the  thing 

that  grief  can  be, 
I — I  have  broken  a  heart  with  a  light  kiss,  carelessly ! 


no 


GIVERS 

MY  lover  kissed  my  lips,  and  his  arms  went  round  my 

body, 
But  you  were  kissing  the  lips  of  my  soul  in  our  own 

wild  garden 

Where  the  rose-colored  moon  shone  down 
Through  a  sevenfold  garland  of  rainbow  stars 
And  a  river  of  clear  golden  music  rippled  and  thrilled 
In  our  own  place. 

My  lover  gave  me  worship  and  faith  and  swift  sub 
mission, 

You  gave  me  a  light  word,  and  a  touch,  before  you 
went  from  me, 

And  an  endless  demesne  where  my  dreams  can  live 
my  whole  life  through 

And  a  living  heart  to  sing  with ; 

There  is  never  cause  for  grief  or  cause  for  laughter 

That  I  do  not  run  to  our  country  of  dreams  to  tell  you, 

Wrapped  in  your  living  arms  among  the  heavenly 
roses, 

Sure  of  your  smile  .    .    . 

You,  whose  heart  is  a  cluster  of  seven  cold  stars ! 


in 


OLD  WINE 

IF  I  could  lift 

My  heart  but  high  enough 
My  heart  could  fill  with  love : 

But  ah,  my  heart 

Too  still  and  heavy  stays 
Too  brimming  with  old  days. 


112 


I  TOOK  HIS  DREAMS 

I  TOOK  his  dreams  from  him, 
Boy-dreams  of  gold  and  red, 

I  gave  him  sorrows  dim, 
White  grief,  instead,   .    .    . 

And  for  a  little  space 

Joy  in  my  careless  face. 

I  took  his  hope  away, 

Light  hope,  a  foolish  thing, 

I  gave  him  silence  gray, 
Death's  comforting  .    .    . 

Was  it  my  soul  that  sighed, 

Dead  on  the  day  he  died? 


CERTAINTIES 

WHETHER  you  live  by  hut  or  throne 
Whether  your  feet  tread  stone  or  grass 

Comes  the  one  lad  you  shall  never  own 
Or  the  one  lass ; 

Whether  you've  pence  to  spend  or  gold, 
Whether  you've  toil  or  time  to  weep, 

Comes  the  one  pain  that  may  never  be  told 
And  may  never  sleep; 

Whether  you  weep  or  mock  in  pride, 

WThether  you  tell  or  still  deny, 
Comes  the  one  scar  that  your  heart  shall  hide 

Till  the  day  you  die  ! 


114 


WISE  PEOPLE 

I  THINK  that  we  are  very  strong  and  wise, 
Mocking  at  love  and  at  the  grief  thereafter,   . 

For  sometimes  I  forget  him  in  your  eyes 

And  sometimes  you  forget  her  in  my  laughter. 


1x5 


UNFAITH 

You  hid  the  love  in  your  eyes — 
How  could  you  think  I  knew  ? 

It  was  only  a  step  to  his  comforting 
From  the  hurt  of  you. 

For  even  a  woman's  eyes 

Grow  tired  of  tears — 
It  was  so  long  a  way  to  look 

Down  the  naked  years ! 

And  I  had  rest  from  heartbreak 
And  I  had  peace  from  pain.   .    .    . 

Why  do  you  have  the  love  in  your  eyes 
Again,  again  ? 


116 


SONG:  KIND  ADIEU 

GOOD-BY,  my  dear,  good-by — 
You  woke  my  heart  to  break  it, 
So  if  another  take  it 

Why  need  you  turn  or  sigh  ? 

New  roads  are  soon  to  find 

And  Heaven  may  well  be  sending 
At  every  highway's  ending 

A  lass  that  will  be  kind : 

Good  luck,  my  lad — good  day ! 

Go  singing  down  the  year — 

But  as  for  me,  my  dear, 
I  go  another  way ! 


LOST  COUNSEL 

IF  you  were  but  near  me, 

O  kindest  and  best, 
I  could  tell  you  my  trouble, 

And  I  could  have  rest ; 

You  would  smile  and  be  silent, 
And  then  you  would  say 

Some  word  that  would  still  me 
And  brighten  the  day — 

Wisest  and  kindest, 

If  you  were  but  near 
I  could  speak  of  my  lover, 

My  doubt  and  my  fear, 

You  would  show  me  my  pathway- 

But  what  shall  I  do, 
Wisest  and  kindest? 

My  lover  is  you ! 


118 


I  DID  NOT  KNOW 

I  DID  not  know  that  I  should  miss  you, 
So  silver-soft  your  loving  came, 

There  were  no  trumpets  down  the  dawning, 
There  were  no  leaping  tides  of  flame   .    . 

Only  a  peace  like  still  rain  falling 

On  a  tired  land  with  drought  foredone, 

Only  a  warmth  like  light  soft-lying 
On  a  skut  place  that  has  not  sun. 

I  did  not  know  that  I  should  miss  you   .    . 

I  only  miss  you,  day  and  night, 
Stilly,  as  e-arth  would  miss  the  rainfall, 

Always,  as  earth  would  miss  the  light 


119 


AN  AFTERNOON 

THIS  was  one  of  the  dreary  whiles 
When  a  woman  sits  and  smiles 
Wishing  all  the  talk  was  over, 
Inward  thought  a  weary  rover   .    .    . 
But  my  lips  smiled  vividly — 
Ah,  the  women  could  not  see 
How  my  hand  in  yours  lay  warm 
Through  wide  miles  of  sun  and  storm 
(Far  away,  dear,  did  you  know 
That  I  smiled  to  feel  it  so?) 

And  my  eyes  burned  bright,  elate, 
Into  theirs  of  drearier  fate, 
Seeing  your  eyes'  lovingness 
Into  mine  smile  deep  and  bless 
(Far  away,  love,  did  you  see 
On  your  eyes  mine  lovingly?) 

While  between  the  words  they  made, 
Weary  words,  I  think,  dull-weighed, 
We  were  talking  each  to  each — 
Why,  too  short  for  all  our  speech 
Was  the  lingering  afternoon, 
Throbbing  fast  and  vanished  soon 


An  Afternoon  121 

(Far  away,  love,  did  you  hear 
All  I  whispered  in  your  ear?) 

And  they  said — I  heard  them  say — 
"  What  it  is  to  be  young  and  gay ! 
How  she  pleasured  in  the  day !  " 


THE  WOOD-PATH 

THE  little  wood-path  wandered 
Green  and  brown  and  gay 

Up  a  hill  and  down  a  hill, 
Through  a  dew-wet  way. 

It  slipped  beneath  the  pine-trees 
Where  the  winds  blewr  sweet, 

Past  goldenrod  and  feverfew 
And  fields  of  whispering  wheat ; 

So  far  and  wide  it  wandered, 
So  many  a  dusk-sweet  way, 

I  thought  the  little  wood-path 
Was  guiding  me  astray— 

But  oh,  the  little  wood-path 

It  knew,  it  was  wise, 
It  led  me  to  your  waiting  arms, 

To  your  lips,  your  eyes! 


122 


WARNING 

As  long  as  you  never  marry  me,  and  I  never  marry 
you, 

There's  nothing  on  earth  that  we  cannot  say  and  noth 
ing  we  cannot  do — 

The  flames  lift  up  from  our  blowing  hair,  the  leaves 
flash  under  our  feet 

When  once  in  a  year  or  a  score  of  years  our  hands 
and  our  laughters  meet ! 

For  east  and  west  through  a  sorry  world  we  pass  with 

our  joy  to  sell, 
And  they  that  buy  of  our  song  and  jest  they  praise  us 

that  we  do  well, 
But  few  can  sell  us  the  mirth  they  buy,  and  few  be 

that  know  a  song, 
And   for  all  of  the  praise  of  the  kindly   folk,   their 

speeches  are  over-long! 

But  two  of  a  trade,  one  always  hears,  might  get  in 

each  other's  way, 
And  you  might  be  wanting  to  sing,  God  wot,  when  I 

desired  to  play, 
(Oh,  it's  rather  a  danger  with  folks  like  us  and  our 

sparks  that  are  flying  free) 
But  I  never,  never  must  marry  you,  and  you  never 

must  marry  me ! 

123 


124  Warning 

Now  when  we  take  breath  from  songs  at  last,  to  be 

what  the  rest  call  dead, 
They'll  sigh,  "  Ah,  noble  the  songs  they  made,  and 

noble  the  jests  they  said !  " 
And  they  will  inscribe  on  our  monuments  regret  that 

our  day  is  done — 
But  we  will  be  off  in  an  excellent  place,  and  having 

most  excellent  fun — 

Oh,  very  proud  from  a  golden  cloud  you'll  stride  in 

your  crown  and  wings, 
Till  you  hear  my  little  earthly  giggle  behind  my  gold 

harpstrings ; 
And  you'll  toss  your  gilt  theorbo  down  on  the  nearest 

star  or  moon, 
And  carry  me  off  on  a  comet's  back  for  a  long,  wild 

afternoon ; 

And  while  we're  lashing  the  comet  up  till  it  misses  St. 

Michael's  Way, 
And  laugh  to  think  how  the  seraphs  blink,  and  what 

the  good  saints  will  say, 
We'll  heave  a  little  sigh  of  content — or  a  wistful  one, 

maybe — 
To  know  that  I  never  can  marry  you,  and  you  never 

can  marry  me! 


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Ju  ,  &  -*-•  lo^2 

AUTO  DISC  CIRC 

AUG  23*94 

S£MT  ON  ILL 

SEP  1  5  193 

U.  C.  BERKEL 

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FORM  NO.  DD6 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
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